It Conquers All
by Silver Weasley
Summary: Snape assigns Draco detention for the first time ever. Naturally, chaos ensues, particularly when Draco finds part of a letter from a certain Lily Potter. [DH spoilers, mentions of RHr and SSLP]


**It Conquers All**

_Disclaimer:_

J.K. Rowling owns the universe, I wreak havoc with its characters.

_Summary: _

Snape assigns Draco detention for the first time in the history of the world. Naturally, chaos ensues, particularly when Draco finds part of a letter from a certain Lily Potter. [slightly AU, DH spoilers, mentions of R/Hr and S/L

_Author's Note:_

No, you are not imagining it: after an entire summer of being able to write nothing at all, a plot bunny randomly struck me and I MANAGED TO WRITE AN ACTUAL FANFIC ZOMGWTFGASP. ::coughs:: So yeah. It's really kinda sad how bad my writer's block's been lately. (If you're interested in any in-progress fics I've promised to update, check my profile for further info.)

Oh yeah, and there's a bit of a problem with THIS fic, by the way. I thought of the idea, wrote it, got all excited about it...and then realized some of my time line-ing was off. Go figure. (DH spoilers ahead, so if you haven't read the book, beware.) Because I am stupid and am quite jetlagged, I had it in my head that Snape had gotten the letter from Lily at Grimmuald Place just after Sirius died, the summer before Harry's 6th year. For some reason, in my mind, I decided Snape would have had that letter throughout 6th year, thus giving poor Draco Malfoy the opportunity to unwittingly stumble across it. So, for all intents and purposes, that's an off detail in the story. Not big, but diehard canon-catchers not unlike myself would point it out if I didn't explain, I'm sure. xD I really don't like Draco Malfoy's character, but I gotta admit, I felt sorry for him in the last two books. He's weak and an idiot, and annoying and smug...but he's also sort of the product of how he was raised. I have no idea what made me want to explore the way his mind might've worked in 6th year, but something about the way he just randomly stopped trusting Snape or even liking him very much made me wonder...what's up with that? And that's where this fic comes in. Anyways, enjoy, and please read and review! I'm a bit rusty after so much time away from fanfic.

--

Draco simply couldn't understand it.

He would have expected this from any other teacher—particularly McGonagall, and naturally, that half-breed oaf, Hagrid--but _Snape?_ Draco couldn't recall a time his Head of House had _ever _taken points away from him (not even one!), much less given him _detention_. It was always McGonagall who assigned him that sort of thing; Snape was known for favoring Slytherins, for letting them off easy…

_This is humiliating, _Draco thought bitterly as he sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor. He was organizing Professor Snape's files alphabetically, sorting through graded copies of essays, tests, lesson plans, and (perhaps ironically) detention slips, labeling them neatly as directed, and separating them into folders—and of course, this was all _without _a wand. It was ridiculous; Snape was a methodical man, meticulous to the last detail, and Draco didn't entertain the idea for one moment that he would have let his filing cabinet fall into a state of such dreadful disrepair.

_He must have messed this all up just for me, _Draco mused sourly. He would have readily written and complained to Father that his old friend Snape was being absolutely absurd…but of course, Father was in Azkaban, in no position to do anything to protect his son. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that. It was _better _to forget, really—the sorrow did not envelope Draco so completely when he forced himself not to dwell on Father's imprisonment.

Shaking his head, Draco tried to clear his mind. No use to worry over Father, not now. He had to focus primarily on his mission this year, the mission the Dark Lord had assured him would help bring honor back to the Malfoy family name, free Father from prison, keep Mother safe…alive…

And of course, right now, he was supposed to be serving a wrongfully assigned detention, which he really ought to be paying better attention to, lest Snape berate him once more.

Draco frowned again, but this time, none of his previous childish petulance lent itself to his expression. It really _was _quite disconcerting, how angry Snape had been. Truthfully, it wasn't just the fact that Draco had been given _detention, _it was the _reason _for it.

Well, Draco supposed he'd had it coming, using the word so loosely all these years. It was really his own fault…he'd grown accustomed to getting away with it. To be honest, he had been more at ease using it in Snape's class than anywhere else, always assuming Snape shared similar views, that the professor thought it himself but couldn't say it aloud for fear of Dumbledore's wrath.

Apparently that had been a grave error of judgment, one Draco would never make again. Snape was _not _to be trusted, that had been made perfectly clear. Even if he fooled all the others, Draco was onto him now; Snape had let something slip, something he obviously hadn't meant to.

_He's a blood-traitor. _This thought struck Draco with the force of the speeding Hogwarts Express; it at once seemed both impossible and idiotic, but the more Draco considered it, the more it made sense. _Father says he's supposed to be top spy for the Dark Lord…and yet he's had all these chances to kill Potter, even DUMBLEDORE…and he hasn't even tried, not once…_

Lost in thought, Draco set down the ancient piece of parchment he'd been labeling, and leaned back on his elbows, staring at the ceiling and pondering the earlier events of the day.

First of all, it had been so _normal. _Potter and Weasley were partnered up, no surprises there, and Granger was predictably helping Longbottom the Witless Wonder. Draco had paired up with Zabini…and quite unluckily for them, they'd ended up practicing right next to Granger and Longbottom.

Longbottom was moronic when it came to non-verbal spells; Granger had already Stunned the idiot eight times before he even managed to produce a Stunner at _all, _and it didn't even hit her, it was so worthless, it merely fizzled out in midair.

"I'm hopeless, Hermione!" Longbottom had moaned as Draco and Zabini laughed loudly.

"Nonsense, Neville," Granger had replied, quite firmly. "You've got to have a bit of confidence in yourself, that's all." She shot both Draco and Zabini disgusted, hate-filled glares. "_Ignore _the incredibly stupid little children over there—neither of them are even half the wizard you are."

"Is that so, Granger?" Draco demanded. "Well, at least Zabini and I don't tarnish the name of Slytherin. At least, Granger, we represent the qualities of our house, which is more than I can say for that sniveling, pathetic excuse of a—"

"Shut _up_, Malfoy," Granger said in a low, dangerous voice, and Draco saw her knuckles whiten as she gripped her wand ever harder. "If you'd like me to remind you that _Neville _helped land your father in Azkaban, I'd be only too happy to oblige." It was a low blow and it had the desired effect—but for once, Draco didn't let Granger see that. Too dangerous to try and curse her here, much less strangle her, but he was not above threats. Raising his voice so that Potter and Weasley (who had stopped practicing their non-verbal spells and were now glaring at him) could hear, Draco smiled quite chillingly and said,

"I'll see you get what's coming to you, you little Mudblood. You won't always have Scarhead and your blood-traitor boyfriend to watch out for you, and mark my words, if I ever catch you alone, I'll—"

"Ron, _no!_" Too late, Draco saw Weasley (whose ears were a hideous shade of red) lunging at him. Loath as he was to admit it, Weasley was quite a lot taller, heavier, and altogether more intimidating than Draco could ever hope to be. Times like these, Draco wished Crabbe and Goyle actually knew how to read, and therefore could have ended up in N.E.W.T. DADA.

He braced himself, waiting for the painful blow that was inevitably seconds away, before realizing both Longbottom and Potter were holding Weasley back, not without some difficulty.

"You—you bloody little—don't you dare even effing _suggest— "_ Weasley spluttered, shaking one arm and easily dislodging Longbottom, who went flying halfway across the room. "Harry, let go of me, I'm going to wring the little ferret's stinking neck--!"

"Get hold of yourself, mate, he's just not worth it," Potter managed to grunt. "Neville, Dean—c'mon, lend a hand, won't you?" Draco smirked, thoroughly enjoying the whole affair, as Thomas and a slightly disheveled Longbottom struggled to help Potter keep Weasley in check.

"Yeah, that's right Weaselby, listen to Potty. It's not as if I would _kill _the Mudblood…" At this point, Draco smiled coldly. "…_Yet._"

It was, of course, the wrong thing to say.

Potter, Longbottom, Thomas, and just about every Gryffindor within range froze. Granger's face went white as a sheet, and she clenched her wand again. For a moment, it seemed as though no one, not even the Slytherins, dared breathe. And then, something snapped, and the three holding Weasley back collectively let him go, and Weasley attacked in a blur of red hair and gigantic freckled fists.

Draco expected to receive a thorough beating and made no real move to fight back other than a few dejected swings, but instead, Weasley slammed him, hard, against the wall and lifted him by the collar of his robes.

"If," Weasley said in a voice so low and dangerous Draco almost forgot to sneer, "you ever even _think _about getting anywhere near her, you scum—"

"Enough!" At last, Snape seemed to have been alerted to the commotion; he had stopped his work at his desk and had swept over to them (how he hadn't noticed the scuffle before, Draco couldn't understand). "Weasley, release Malfoy at once." For a moment, Draco was certain Weasley was going to swear at Snape, his face turned so red, but instead he briefly dug his nails into Draco's shoulders, slammed him a little against the wall again, and said,

"Yes, _sir_," before dropping Draco unceremoniously to the ground.

"Weasley, fifty points from Gryffindor," Snape said in a bored tone, raising a brow as the Slytherins jeered. When Weasley's mouth dropped open and he furiously started to protest, Snape held up a hand. "If you wish to avoid detention, you shall hold your tongue," he advised coolly.

"Professor!" Potter looked beside himself, his hands were shaking almost as much as Weasley's, and his eyes were dark with fury. Beside him, Granger was staring at the floor, dazed, still pale. Parvati Patil kept patting Granger's forearm as she murmured something to her. "Please, sir, Malfoy provoked—"

"Weasley should learn to ignore childish taunting," Snape interrupted. "There is a time and a place for—"

"Sir!" Now, even Longbottom spoke up; he looked outraged. "He was…he threatened Hermione, he—"

"I do not care to hear excuses, Longbottom," Snape said, quite firmly. "This is a classroom, and Weasley will learn to treat it as such; he will see to it that he no longer attacks—"

"Me? Me, attack _him?_!" Weasley shouted, and now he had gone to Granger and put an arm around her shoulders. She seemed to shrink into the half-embrace; Malfoy had never seen her look so small. "Look at her, Professor Snape! He just as good as told her he would—"

"I do not know how to make myself anymore clear, Weasley," Snape said icily, taking a few steps forward. "You will control your temper in my classroom or you will be very sorry indeed. Now get back to practicing the non-verbal Stunners, this is your final warning!" Snape turned.

"Professor." Weasley's voice was calm, low and dangerous again as it had been earlier.

"Ron, it's all right, really, I'm used to it by now," Granger cut in, her voice quiet. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does, Hermione," Weasley said fervently. "This isn't right, he can't just call you that in the middle of a _class_, in front of tons of eye-witnesses, and expect to get away with it!"

"Weasley," Snape warned, not even bothering to look at him, "this is the final straw—"

"He called her a Mudblood!" Weasley bellowed. "He called her a Mudblood and then threatened to kill her! You can't tell me that I'm letting _childish taunting _get the better of me, you can't bloody well make me ignore the fact that he's throwing this rubbish at her and then expect us all to sit idly by while she suffers his abuse!" Once again, it seemed to Draco that everybody had frozen, as though all the air in the room had been sucked out.

Slowly, Snape had turned to look at them. His gaze was cold, unforgiving, and Draco thought triumphantly that Weasley had at last driven him around the bend. How stupid to expect that this would make Snape, of all people, reconsider…

For a long moment, Snape stared at Weasley and Granger, and Malfoy followed his dark gaze, wondering what could be making Snape hesitate; it was unlike him to look so…so…troubled. Perhaps it was just Draco, maybe he was imagining things and Snape was really sneering, about to tell Weasley he'd be serving several months of detention.

Snape's gaze was fixed on Weasley and Granger; Weasley had not yet taken his arm from around Granger's shoulders, and she was leaning into him, her eyes fixed on the floor, still as ludicrously pale as before. Something in Snape's black eyes flickered for the briefest of moments—if Draco hadn't known better, he thought it might've been remorse.

Finally, Snape seemed to shake himself out of whatever reverie he'd been having and said, in a voice dripping with sarcasm,

"Touching as this is, Weasley, my patience grows thin. If you have personal issues with Malfoy, you will settle them outside my classroom, preferably forgoing fists and employing the biting wit I know you to possess." He turned sharply, and added, "Draco. You will see me after class."

Then he'd returned to his desk.

Bemused, Draco had lingered after the bell rang signaling the end of the hour, sitting in the chair opposite Snape's desk.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked, curious. Snape glanced up at him; he'd been engrossed in a well-worn, heavily creased piece of parchment, and when Draco spared it a glance, he could see it only contained a few lines. Re-folding the paper and stowing it in a desk drawer, Snape folded his hands and regarded Draco from across the large desk.

"I have always been quite lenient with you Draco," Snape said calmly. "I have wanted you to feel that I can be trusted as an advisor, perhaps even one day as a friend. You are a gifted young man, no doubt you are aware of this. The honor you have been given is not one that He would bestow upon just anyone, and I recognize the tribulations you have faced this year so far have been…well, taxing."

"Yes, sir," Draco agreed, no less perplexed than he had been a half-hour ago. "Erm—thank you."

"That is why," Snape went on (and there was that flicker in his eyes again!), "I must impress upon you how exceedingly foolish that little stunt you pulled earlier was." Draco could not help it: his mouth fell open.

"But—but sir—!"

"If your peers have not suspected you of foul play before, they most certainly will now," Snape said, leaning forward. "If you wish to remain undetected in your efforts to complete your task, if you hope to even properly plan the first part of it, you _must keep your head down. _Publicly hurling slurs of the worst kind at Muggle-borns will not ingratiate you with most at this school, nor will it help to accomplish anything."

"I—she deserved it, Professor Snape, it was just…the Mud—"

"Do not say the word again!" Snape cried, and Draco drew back a little, shocked, confused. For a moment, Snape's face was contorted with rage, and strangely, grief, before he seemed to get hold of himself. "Do not say it again whilst you are in Hogwarts," Snape amended, then sighed, his hand dropping to his pocket and clenching around the parchment Draco knew to be in it. "You risk too much, Draco, far too much, and you have put me in an unfortunate position. If I wish to maintain my standing with the Headmaster, I have no choice—undoubtedly Weasley will have reported what occurred today to Professor McGonagall, perhaps he will even have asked Potter to take it to Professor Dumbledore."

"They never have _before,_" Draco could not help but point out, and he noticed Snape's hand clench even tighter in his pocket.

"I sense it might be different this time, considering it occurred in the middle of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class," Snape said dryly; Draco had to grudgingly acknowledge the truth of that. "Should Weasley not take it to his Head of House, he will most certainly have something planned for you in retaliation—and I do not expect he will have paid due heed to my earlier advice; Weasley has far more advantage in the brawn department than anything to do with brains." Snape allowed himself a malicious smile, then added, "Forgive me, Draco, but you rather underestimate both the extent of Gryffindor loyalty and the very real danger of love-struck teenage boys. The oaf will do anything for Granger, if you haven't realized it yourself by now—do not try him."

"Love!" Draco scoffed. "Forgive _me, _sir, but _I _think Weasley is the one who ought to be worried; he and Potter and Granger should be the ones keeping their heads down! What pathetic chance will they stand once He has won?" Snape sighed again.

"Oh, make no mistake, Draco, love is both a useful and often deadly weapon. It is why they say it conquers all." Snape smiled a humorless, bitter smile and his eyes were colder than Draco had ever seen them. "You are right, of course," he hastened to add. "They will not succeed, especially once you have completed your task…which brings us back to what we were discussing earlier, about my standing with the Headmaster and the essentiality that you not draw attention to yourself." Snape took a measured breath, then said, quite calmly, "Draco, fifty points will be taken from Slytherin—"

"_Professor!"_

"—and you will report to me tonight at eight o'clock to serve detention."

"Detention," Draco repeatedly numbly, falling back in his chair. "This is the most ridiculous—"

"I will see you tonight, Draco," Snape said sharply. "You are excused." He waved his wand once, and a folded, green and silver embossed piece of parchment appeared out of thin air, hovering expectantly by Draco's hand. "You have Charms next, I believe. Give that to Professor Flitwick, he will excuse your tardiness."

Speechless, Draco had jumped to his feet, snatched the note, and departed without another word, allowing the door to bang loudly on his way out.

He'd spent the rest of the day angry and sullen, and he'd arrived at Professor Snape's five minutes late, had accepted his instructions without a word, and set down to the dismal task.

Draco had worked for hours and he felt he was nearly finished. One of the more appealing parts of his job was that he got to look at a bunch of his classmate's old grades: Granger was, naturally, a disgustingly talented student in DADA, Weasley was almost as good, and Potter outshone even his _Mudblood _(Snape could hardly monitor Draco's thoughts, after all) friend with perfect marks…well, except for fifth year, but some idiot—probably McGonagall or something—had made a note about Umbridge being biased and how none of the work she had assigned was to be viewed in good lighr, Potter's perfect O.W.L. was supposed to be proof that he deserved to have his fifth year DADA grades wiped from all records.

Large red 'X's had been placed through all of his fifth year work, along with almost every other Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff's—even a few Slytherins! Draco saw a fellow sixth-year girl called Lena Jackson's papers scribbled out, and smirked as he thought of her: she was a fireball, as sly and cunning and sharp-tongued as any other Slytherin, but her two best friends were a Gryffindor and some Ravenclaw Mudblood; mostly, she was viewed by her housemates as an embarrassment and a joke, a Gryffindor the Sorting Hat had made a mistake on. Probably good to be reminded that even those in his own House could not all be trusted, that Snape was right: Draco ought to watch how loose his tongue had become…there might be spies, enemies, everywhere, even where he would least suspect it.

Perhaps, Draco thought with a sigh as he sorted through the last stack of tests, Snape really _had _been trying to help him keep his cover, and the fact that Draco had taken such offense to it was merely because he wasn't used to his favorite teacher picking on him. Snape, a blood-traitor? Preposterous! Nobody was that good of an actor, _nobody, _and besides, talented as the Potions-cum-Defense professor was, he could not be smart enough to deceive the Dark Lord.

Satisfied, and feeling a great deal more at ease, Draco finished labeling the rest of the papers, and set them neatly in the filing cabinet. Exhausted, he stood at last, cracking his knees and back, stretching, and yawning hugely. He was slightly dizzy from standing up so quickly, and naturally, the way his luck had been going, he stumbled over sideways and bumped his hip so hard on the desk a drawer flew open and spewed papers everywhere.

Swearing, grumbling in pain, and irritated, Draco grabbed his wand and waved it, attempting to set the damage he had done right. In the end, he just managed to scatter everything else about the room, and he ended up _Accio'_ing them over to him and stacking them back up manually, as neatly as possible.

At the top of the pile he noticed something odd—it looked to be the same yellowed old piece of parchment Snape had been so interested in earlier, and this time, Draco could see it looked a bit thicker…there seemed to be a photograph stuck inside it.

Unable to help his mounting curiosity, Draco threw all caution to the winds and unfolded the parchment:

_could ever have been friends with Gellert Grindelwald._

_I think her mind's going, personally!_

_All my love,_

_Lily_

Strangely, it seemed to be covered in tear stains…and stranger still, the tear stains looked fresh, standing out sharply against the weathered paper. Frowning, Draco examined the photo, which had been ripped neatly in half. A pretty, red-haired woman was laughing, watching something or someone in the half of the picture that was gone, her green eyes shining…

Draco started.

He _knew _those green eyes, those stupid, famous, tell-tale green eyes; he'd have to be a fool not to recognize them. They were Harry Potter's eyes, and this woman—this laughing, breathtakingly beautiful woman—must have been his mother, Lily Potter. A Mudblood.

Draco might've just stumbled across a dirty magazine in his teacher's desk; he flung the stack of parchment back into the drawer he had disturbed and made to slam it loudly, then thought better of it, and removed all the papers again. Obviously, Potter's mother had once known Snape quite well…perhaps intimately? Draco shuddered a little in distaste. At any rate, she had sent him a letter, but Draco had only stumbled upon the second page of it. Naturally, she must have written more than a couple of sentences to Snape, and Draco was willing to bet all the money he had that the other half of the photo had contained Potter, or perhaps his father, who Lucius had once told Draco had been Snape's sworn enemy at school.

Not quite certain himself why he wanted to know what else Potty's Mudblood mother had written to Severus Snape, Draco searched the rest of the papers in the drawer, and then the desk, but came up with nothing more interesting than Snape's To-Do List for the next week, which included a _meeting with the "OotP"_ (whatever _that _meant), _lunch with Sinistra_ (Draco had thought Snape didn't like her much), and lastly and most importantly, _imperative: deal with Draco. _

Draco blinked, re-read it several times, confused: but there it was, scrawled hastily at the end of the parchment, right there in ink for anyone to read.

_What the bloody hell is Snape playing at? _Draco wondered, and distrust and uncertainty bloomed within him.

It wasn't entirely incriminating, but now Draco knew Snape would give him _detention _for saying the word 'Mudblood'—a term Snape was supposed to be a great supporter of, that Snape had possibly loved or at least been friends with a Mudblood himself (Potter's _mother_, no less!), and that he was making it a point to watch Draco…a concentrated effort, no less, if it was on his To-Do list…

"Draco." Draco jumped about a foot in the air, and the papers in his lap went flying all over the place again. Standing in front of him was Snape, looking quietly enraged. "What," Snape hissed, his face white with fury, "do you think you are doing?"

"I—I slipped, sir, I knocked the drawer out of your desk—I was trying to put it right—" For a half a second, Draco thought Snape believed him, but then Snape's eyes darted to the desk, where Draco had left Lily Potter's letter and photo.

"You—you--!" Snape spluttered, looking so infuriated Draco was actually frightened. He had never seen Snape like this, though of course he'd heard the horror stories. "How _dare _you go through my—did you read this?!" Almost hysterically, Snape seized the letter and shook it in front of Draco's face. "Answer me, boy, did you read it?!"

"Y-yes!" Draco stammered, unable to lie to Snape when he seemed so angry already. "I don't understand a word of it, I just glanced at it, I swear!"

Snape looked as though he had gone slightly mad, he aimed a kick at a desk, nearly roaring in frustration.

"My—my private things! You are never to touch—never to tell—"

"Tell _what, _Professor?" Draco demanded, and now he stood, gaining a little confidence at Snape's obvious weakness. "Tell somebody—maybe _Potter, _for example?—that you were so close to his Mudblood mother? That you cried all over this parchment and keep a photo of her in your desk?"

"I—that you could suggest…" Snape looked so ragged and disconcerted at this point, Draco knew that if he wanted information, he must seize it now.

"Explain away that letter!" Draco said loudly. "Explain why you have that picture, why you gave me _detention _when I called the Granger girl a Mudblood and why you're _following me!" _He jabbed a finger at the To-Do list. The lights in the room flickered and the air seemed to grow thick with power; Snape didn't even seem to realize his magic was getting the best of him, he was shaking so hard, staring at Draco with such anger… "You loved Lily Potter, didn't you?" Draco whispered, unable to believe he was saying it himself. He did not know what to think, he didn't understand what else could make Snape act like this, and he was almost scared to wonder what it all meant.

"Yes," Snape said, and his voice broke. "And now you will get out of my classroom."

"Is this why you haven't killed Potter?" He ignored Snape's order; Draco was slowly putting two-and-two together, making sense of everything he had puzzled at for six years long years…why Snape always seemed to be around to save Potter's neck…why the professor had hated Potter right from the start… "You're…you're _protecting _him. You're protecting Potter because of her, aren't you?" Snape did not answer; he was staring down at the photograph of Lily Potter, his shoulders heaving with emotion.

Draco had never ever seen Snape lose control: not of his emotions, not of himself, not of anyone under his power. For the first time ever, it seemed as though Draco was being presented with the man behind the mask, a man who scared him, a man who might be ready to betray the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, Draco…everything he had tried to do so far, his own life, his mother's safety, his father's freedom—

"I don't believe it," Draco whispered, as Snape continued to stare at his clenched hands. "You've deceived us all! You're working for Dumbledore—"

Suddenly, it was as though something in Snape snapped. He drew himself to his full height, let the usual air of disdain settle over him, and said,

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Draco."

"We'll see about that!" Everything was at risk, the spy in their midst had been discovered at last, and Draco was the one who had done it! He had to tell someone, he had to make certain Snape didn't get away with this.

"Let me repeat myself: I haven't a clue what you're talking about, and Draco…neither do you."

"What--?"

But the next thing Draco knew, Snape was pointing his wand at him and saying,

"_Obliviate!" _

--

Draco couldn't understand why Weasley kept threatening, whenever he saw him, to see to it that Draco got what was coming to him ("Just you wait and see, Ferret! You'll be sorry for what you said to Hermione if it's the last thing I ever do!"). These exchanges were punctuated by Potter scowling fiercely at Draco and yanking Weasley in the opposite direction, along with Granger staring at the floor, seemingly with nothing to say for once in her life.

It made him feel strangely uneasy: they'd been at school two months, and to be honest Draco had hardly had anything to say to the disgustingly good-hearted Golden Trio, all three of whom he had admittedly sworn to loathe for all eternity. It wasn't that shocking that ridiculously temperamental, pumpkin-headed Weasley was livid with him, but Draco couldn't remember a single thing he might have said recently to Granger that would be so offending Weasley would carry on about it for days on end instead of reverting to ignoring him like usual.

On top of that, Draco had absolutely no recollection of where he'd been for half of Monday (he remembered everything up until midway through Defense, then it all went black), and whenever he saw Snape in the corridors or at meals, he had an unpleasant sensation…like he'd forgotten something important about the professor.

At last, unable to take it anymore, Draco stooped to interrogating Zabini and Pansy, who had both revealed that Snape had asked Draco to see him after class when Draco called Granger a Mudblood and apparently threatened to kill her, and that Draco had been forced to serve detention in order to appease McGonagall, who (word had it), had demanded Snape give Draco a punishment along with Weasley.

It was all very disconcerting, and when Draco entered the Defense classroom, he felt even more anxious than he had for the past few days. One look at Snape made him bristle with nervousness, fear, even.

Draco couldn't say why, but he did not trust him. There was just something—something about him…something Draco had never noticed before, what _was it…? _Added to the fact that Draco couldn't remember the supposed detention (or anything else, really) it was no wonder he was feeling slightly paranoid.

The class began, and it was back to more non-verbal Stunning; non-verbal Patronus charms had been added to their list of things to work on as well. Draco had tried to get Zabini to stand as far away from Weasley, Potter, and Granger as possible, but unfortunately, Weasley didn't like that plan. Snape got a note from McGonagall and had to step out of the class for a few moments, and as soon as he had left, chaos ensued.

"How's your dad, Malfoy?" Weasley snarled as he threw a Stunner blindly in Potter's direction. "Enjoyng rotting away in Azkaban? I expect you can't wait to join him, you evil—"

"Let's not get started about our _fathers_, Weasley," Draco shot back. "I hear yours actually made enough money this summer to buy a second set of robes for the entire family to share!"

This exchange started an even louder, messier trade of insults, until at last Draco and Weasley had abandoned all pretenses and were standing there bellowing at each other. Wands at each others throats, Weasley took two steps closer and hissed,

"Maybe I should just shut you up now, Ferret. I'll bet you fancy yourself a Death Eater in the making, don't you? Ready to carry on with the family business?"

"You have no idea what you're dealing with, Weasley," Draco said softly, "and if you want to settle this now, I'd be happy to."

"Stop it!" All at once, Granger had darted in between them, and was appealing to Weasley, mainly through a series of pointed looks. "This is ridiculous. Ron, I know you're angry with Malfoy, I am too, but there's no sense for you to get in any more trouble! It's just like Harry always says: he's not _worth _it! Honestly, I can look after myself, and anyways, I have you and Harry around." She turned to face Draco and said, quite calmly, "You don't scare me, Malfoy. You never have."

"Oh, is that so?" Draco's head was pounding, he felt confused still, strange, and when he saw Snape standing in the doorway, staring at what was going on, the confusion intensified. He tried to ignore Snape, attempt a trademark sneer.

"Yes it is," Granger snapped. "You're insecure, pathetic, and spoiled—and I don't think you could really hurt somebody, not even if you tried. You're not _brave _enough!"

"You'd be surprised what I can do, you filthy little—"For some reason, Draco froze, the strange feeling stronger than ever. This felt so _familiar. _Over Granger's bushy head, Draco met Snape's eyes. He could feel the word on his tongue, the shape it made in his mouth, the way it would feel to hurl it at her…but there was something in Snape's gaze, something dark and eerie and terrifying, something Draco didn't understand, and didn't think he ever would. Something that felt even more powerful than anything the Dark Lord had ever threatened him with.

"What's that, Malfoy?" Weasley demanded.

"You'd be surprised what I can do," Draco repeated clearly, turning his attention back to Granger, "you filthy little _know-it-all_."

Everyone seemed to freeze; perhaps the world had stopped. People were staring at Draco as though he had just announced that he was the Heir of Godric Gryffindor; Weasley looked so incredulous it was almost laughable.

The spell of shock broke as Snape swooped down upon the lot of them, told hem all to get back to their spells, suggested Longbottom do the world a favor and learn to hold his wand properly before ever picking it up again, and took points away from Gryffindor for no reason at all.

It was, Draco thought dazedly, as though nothing had changed with Snape. But something had, something big, something Draco could not remember.

Something so important, he was sure, Snape had wiped his memory.

IT was the only explanation, a frightening one at that. The horrible task Draco had to complete before the end of the year was burden enough: now he was certain that the one ally on the faculty he was positive he had had betrayed him. Draco didn't know why or how, but he could feel it in his bones, and he would bet anything it had something to do with Mudbloods. When he'd been unable to make himself say it earlier, he hadn't understood what it was he was feeling…but now he did.

It was guilt. He'd been feeling _guilty_—not about Granger, but about Snape. That was not comforting, it was worrying.

Being Slytherin had taught Draco a few things: One, know your enemies; two, destroy those enemies; and three, there is nothing more certain than Slytherin instinct. Always trust it.

Snape was a threat, even if Draco didn't understand why, and that meant the rest of this mission of his must be his cross to bear alone, he must rely on no one but himself…everything he had ever cared about depended on it.

He scowled at Snape as Zabini practiced his Patronus and red jets of light flashed all around him. Snape stared back at Draco, black eyes watchful, that hidden, mysterious power lurking just beneath his facade. Draco was the first to break the gaze, the first to turn away. He was not brave, not by any means, but he wouldn't let Severus Snape stare him down again, nor would he take his attempts at advice—he'd been offering them all year—any longer. Chances were Snape was out for the glory of the task himself or something…

Draco chanced another glance back at the professor, who had stopped looking at Draco and had turned his attention to a weathered piece of parchment he kept smoothing out almost obsessively on his desk.

And then abruptly, like déjà vu, like a memory trying to claw its way to the surface, a single line drifted almost dreamily through Draco's mind: _Oh, make no mistake, Draco, love is both a useful and often deadly weapon. It is why they say it conquers all._

Snape folded the parchment around something that looked like a photograph and tucked it into his robes. For no reason he could think of in particular, Draco shivered with apprehension, and for the first time ever, he found himself wondering if maybe—just _maybe—_the Dark Lord might not win the war.


End file.
